


Sewers

by JuokasKurvas



Series: Pissing Games [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Drinking, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 04:59:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5614786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuokasKurvas/pseuds/JuokasKurvas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a night of drinking Fenris crosses paths with his least favourite abomination and decides to make his opinion of mages crystal clear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sewers

The last several days had been rough to say the least. Fenris had accompanied Hawke, Varric and Merrill to the wounded coast in order to carry out a small task for some insignificant noble, Fenris neither knew nor cared to know who. That small task, originally meant to take a few hours, ended up being a four day affair battling a small army of slavers, at least half of which seemed to be blood mages. When they finally returned home Fenris was quick to fall into a comforting bottle of red at the Hanged Man, a social sojourn he only agreed to because Merrill was unable to join them. He was in no mood to spend any more time with mages after that nightmare of a trek.

Several hours and a couple more bottles later, Fenris bid Hawke, Varric and Isabella goodnight and made his way toward his dilapidated mansion in Hightown. Between his still black mood and severe inebriation Fenris might not have been competent enough to make the journey home solo, as about half an hour later he realised he not only hadn’t made it home, but he was actually in the sewers under Darktown. Groaning in frustration he started to head back to where he thought the nearest exit should be when he was struck by the sudden urge to relieve himself; three bottles of wine with no break had a tendency to do that to someone. Before Fenris was able to unlace his breeches, he was distracted by the familiar sounds of a hostile altercation. With a heavy sigh, Fenris retied his trousers and decided to investigate; whoever was up ahead had better pray they weren’t a blood mage because even completely intoxicated removing a few hearts and heads would be no problem for the lyrium ghost.

He almost wished it had been blood mages when he arrived on the scene to watch the tail end of a dispute between a group of templars and an all too familiar abomination, currently glowing blue and blathering on about injustice and _his_ rights and a whole mess of arguments that Fenris could not possibly care less about. Maintaining a safe distance he decided to keep an eye on the situation but to allow the abomination to solve his mess alone. They weren’t raiding his clinic, so logically the idiot mage must clearly be doing something down here that he shouldn’t. Loyalty to Hawke might generally keep him from either dismembering the mage or handing him to the templars personally, but that didn’t mean he was going to overreach himself for no reason. In the end his assistance did not even seem to be required, as even with their magic suppressing abilities three templars did not seem to be enough to take down the possessed healer. However, the end of the fray did result in Anders being slammed against the brick wall behind him, where he slumped to the floor unmoving.

Fenris moved carefully toward the bodies collapsed around the small room. All three templars were dead, and would no longer be a help or hindrance to anymore mages. Anders was unconscious but still breathing, clearly only knocked out by his interaction with the unfriendly paving slab. With his antagonists deceased he’d probably be safe enough if Fenris abandoned him here, so the elf began to head back toward the surface when he again remembered the pressing need to urinate. He figured here was as good a place as any, given the entire area was literally part of Kirkwall’s sewer system. Freeing his cock he started to aim for an empty corner when he happened to glance over at the unconscious mage. For all his bravado here he was now lying helpless on the ground in a sewer. Fenris shifted to the right, moving to positing himself in front of the other man, pausing, trying to gauge whether or not the man was likely to wake in the next few minutes. As much as he hated the mage, Fenris couldn’t help but notice what a pleasing sight he made like this, dishevelled blond hair escaping from its habitual tie, cheeks tinged red from the exertion of battle. His usual dire expression was gone, his long lashes rested gently on high cheekbones and his lips were slightly parted. He looked vulnerable, and part of Fenris ached to make the mage feel as helpless and insignificant as his kind had always made the former slave feel. To put him in his place, to mark him.

No longer able to wait, Fenris made up his mind, and without further hesitation he released the contents of a night of carousing onto the sleeping man’s prone form. He watched mesmerised as the golden stream collided with Ander’s coat. Legs splayed around the mage’s body he grabbed his cock and shifted his stream up, to spray across a pale freckled neck, up toward a pointed chin, and finally onto his face. He watched the uneven spray splatter across his nose and toward his eyes, and bit back a groan – partially from relief, partially from pleasure – when the liquid dripped onto those full pink lips and the mage’s thick red tongue protruded, unconsciously trying to lick up the foreign fluid that was only partially making its way into that delicious mouth. He may have been an abomination, but like this he was perfect, helpless and used. It was too soon that Fenris found himself finishing up, ensuring that enough was left to dampen those pretty gold locks. Shaking the last few drips, Fenris tucked his now hardening member back into his breeches. He would wait until he got home to take care of that further inclination, free to relieve this memory in the confines of his own chambers. For now he was sure the mage was starting to stir, and it would be best that he retreated before he did. As much as he’d love to watch the man awaken to see the elf standing dominatingly over him, he didn’t want to lose his erection to an unpleasant conversation. Trousers laced he quickly retreated back to Hightown, the fog that had clouded his mind earlier in the evening now clear. Perhaps this detour hadn’t been such a bad thing after all.

**Author's Note:**

> For some reason I decided there aren't enough watersports stories out there so wrote this, another story which I'll put up eventually, and may continue to add others to the series when I'm feeling particularly depraved. First time posting on AO3 so apologies if I've screwed up formatting, tags, etc etc.


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